The Episode in which I Become a Citizen

After 20 years, I commit to the great, grand experiment of the U.S.A.

Don’t like reading? Allow me to read it to you here 👈

“You have become part of an idea.”

This is a first. I have had ideas, I have lost ideas, I have pitched ideas—never have I ever become part of one.

Not like this.

Not at a drive-thru naturalization ceremony. Not while sitting in a truck in a parking lot next to the San Jose airport, holding a letter from the President of the United States. Not while reading a letter from the President of the United States printed on White House stationery. Not as I wait to be called to step out of my vehicle and take an oath and become a citizen. After today, I will be an Alien no more.

An idea.

Part of an idea.

This is so unlike any idea pitch meeting I’ve ever been in. There is not one fake or uncomfortably polite smile within eye-shot here. No muffins on the conference table. No coffee getting cold. Just grins and expectant energy from everyone, also waiting in their vehicles, reading letters, and touching signatures.

This letter. It’s making me teary. It’s really hitting at the tender spots of me.

I wonder….

Do you think there was an RFP for the United States of America? What did that look like? How many agencies pitched for that business? The business of Nation.

Request for Proposal (RFP):
We are seeking proposals from creative citizens to develop an impactful foundational structure for a country aimed at promoting and reinforcing the fundamental principle that "everyone is created equal" (even though at the time of creating that’ll be a bit of a stretch but we really want to shoot for the moon here.) The objective of this Nation (capital N) will be to inspire unity, inclusivity, and social harmony amongst a diverse population who won’t always see eye-to-eye and will often do awful things to each other just because they can. If you can weave the thread of “possibility” into the fabric of the Nation (emphasis on N) while you’re at it, that’d be ace!

Project Scope:
Boy howdy, this is a big one. The chosen citizens will be responsible for not being dicks to each other and capturing the essence of the idea—a commitment to equality. The creative structure should highlight a bunch of things. Cultural diversity, (but more than saying we have good tacos and cuisines from all over the planet), respect for individual rights, and this idea of shared values. Sticky situations, we know we know. The net-net dealio is that this idea should inspire folks to want to be part of something that’s sort of intangible and you can’t quite touch it or hold it in your hand, but beautiful and lofty in concept and execution. While you’re at it, create a visual identity that folks can wrap themselves in—literally—and some handy catchphrases that we can put in, I dunno, a constitution or a Bill of Rights or something. Sound good?

I imagine it might have gone like that. Was there a list of deliverables? Have any of them been delivered?

My friend Jessi, who has joined me on my drive-thru naturalization odyssey, takes my photo as I read and I feel a bit weird and emotional and excited and I want her to read it too, because it’s such a good letter. The White House paper is very good. The watermark is lovely. The gold letterhead seal at the top of the page glints and winks its executive branch at me. Times New Roman. They use the Oxford Comma. I’m pretty happy right now.

And then there’s Joe’s signature at the bottom. This is a letter from Joe, my new presidential pen pal. I skim over it once more and hand the letter to Jessi. She handles it gently and with reverence befitting.

The letter. A deliverable from the RFP? There was no mention of other final deliverables in the letter itself, but I think that’s by design. I can read between the lines and I think I know what Joe’s really getting at—he slipped in a cheeky WIP caveat to cover all bases.

“Since our Nation's founding, that idea—the source of our strength and dynamism—has been nurtured, enriched, and advanced by the contributions, sacrifices, and dreams of generations of immigrants like you.”

See—it’s a Work in Progress. An ever-evolving and growing idea. A Foundation on which to build. America is a Nation of Lego builders who threw away the box and instructions and don’t really know what the finished piece looks like but are hoping it’s a Millennium Falcon or something equally—there’s that word again—creatively obtuse and bricktacular. Something that grows into a shape you didn’t expect. Something that would crush on Lego Masters.

My kind of Lego.

But the idea, the idea, always circling back to the idea, the foundation, and the nurturing of it.

Having noodled around in the advertising world for a long time, I can tell you that it’s been my experience that when you have an idea that you really like and that you’re gonna pitch to the room, you really need three ideas.

One idea you really love, and two ideas you can hide it in.

This is an important thing to know: You don’t have to love all three, but you have to love one and be able to live with the other two. The toughest part of your pitch will be figuring out the flow of the presentation and the order in which they are presented.

Where do you put the Love Idea?

Do you start with the strongest idea and WOW the room right from the get-go, so that even as you’re presenting the other two ideas (which are strong, but nothing like that first one) they can’t stop thinking about the one they just saw, or…?

Do you put the idea you really want to win as the last in the presentation? One and two are good and lovely, but the third one blows the doors off the joint. You have to roll the dice on that one (just like America) but no matter which way you go, you should have a minimum of three ideas. In fact, that’s the ideal of the ideas.

Three.

And to reiterate: you must like all three ideas. Why? Because some people, even if they really love the dangerous and scary idea, will always go for safe.

“The idea of America is that everyone is created equal and deserves to be treated equally and that we are forever a Nation of possibilities.”

America is not a safe idea, but it does make me wonder—what were the other two?

It doesn’t really matter now. Too late—they went with equal. The “all are equal” idea. The “Nation of possibilities” thing. The visual identity for it was easy and strong and had three primary colors and some catchy taglines, and if it were just flags and accents this project would win Gold Lions at Cannes until the cows came home to roost with bald eagles.

As an about-to-be newly minted citizen, I know that it’s important to remember that visual identity extends to actions within the world—actions beyond the crime of wearing socks with sandals in Europe.

I read my letter again while I’m waiting. When you become a citizen, you’re gonna need to reconcile with that—the actions thing—but I’m not thinking about that right now. Not while I’m reading the letter. Did I mention it’s a good letter?

I put it back into the envelope that says: “A MESSAGE FROM PRESIDENT BIDEN”.

I wait.

There is movement. I start the truck again as the previous group—now citizens—depart. We move up the line of cars in the parking lot and cut our engines again. A few minutes later, rows of us are called on to get out of our cars and move to the front to take the oath.

I stand awkwardly and shuffle my feet and can’t figure out where to hold my hands as I nervously wait and Jessi snaps a photo of me standing and waiting and wishing I’d cleaned my boots that got filthy in the Mojave.

I look like a child on stage at a school play. I am grinning like a loon.

I hold up my hand. I take the oath. It is done. I walk back to my truck with its rooftop tent and its filthy exterior—just like my boots—still grimy from the last time I was on public lands.

America.

The idea of America is most definitely a WIP and FPO project. Many initiatives will be—and have been—For Placement Only (FPO) and struck down by the Supreme Court and bad legislation on a whim. But even with that, there is always the shadow of the possibility of the idea. Things can change. Things will change. And change and change and change. If you become part of it, you can be part of or affect that change.

That’s the idea.

Real talk: There’s a lot of scope creep to this project. Emotional budgets are blown. People are exhausted from pulling all-nighters and it’s taking forever to get it across the line.

There is no line. The project is ongoing. The team members change. There is no project manager. There is only the idea, written on a whiteboard, in permanent, non-dry erase marker.  

I get back in the truck. My truck, fifth in line in a column of new citizens at my drive-thru naturalization ceremony in San Jose, California, right next to the airport and across the street from Costco. A man comes up to my window and hands me my certificate. I put it to the side, start my engine, and move off.

New.

Together, Jessi and I and a procession of new citizens like me, drive out of the cul-de-sac and go park around the block. As we roll past the front of the immigration building, there’s already a line to get photos in front of the USCIS sign.

Is there anything more American than standing in line?  

The atmosphere of the idea can be felt most here, in this line. It’s a diverse mix, and not just of cultures. There are single citizens asking people behind them to take a photo for them. There are families with small children who gather around them for a group photo as the new American proudly holds up a small flag and a certificate and beams.

And then there are citizens like me who alternate between deciding if they should hold up the document or wave the flag with no document, or both. I opt for both.

Some are dressed to the absolute nines for this day—I look like I just came out of the desert but, you know, Joshua Tree vibes are American Vibes.

The atmosphere reeks of ear-to-ear grins and full-teeth smiles. This drab parking lot is filled with the energy of big F Future. It is not cynical. It is pure joy. There is nothing more real than now.

One by one, we pose in front of this last symbol of bureaucracy that intimidates our immigrant existence. Not after today. After today, no more. After today, we will never have to deal with them again. Ten minutes later, my photo taken we walk back to the car. I am giddy and buzzing.

It is done.

I am an American.

Ideas grow. Wild branches twist and arc and stretch toward unknown goals. They develop weird crowns and house strange creatures. Their trunks become rough with harsh bark, capable of withstanding fire and sprouting new growth. Limbs fall, leaves brown and detach to drop from great heights. But the roots of the idea keep their talons deep in the soil, nailed fast, anchoring us to it.

You can’t control how people interpret an idea once it’s out in the world. It’s planted, nothing more. What’s the ROI? What are the KPIs? What will I be measured against? These are questions and I have no answers, but if I had to guess…

I will measure myself against my own interpretation of the idea—it’s what citizens do.

My Return on Investment will be to live my life.

My Key Performance Metric will be happiness, which I have a right to pursue.

I, Citizen.

With a touch of the accelerator and a tank filled with Costco gas, I drive off and toward Santa Cruz, my home, with a small American flag wedged in my sun visor, a glint in my eye, and a hand in the experiment.

I have become a part of an idea. That idea is America. The execution of that idea in the world is where it gets tricky. America has a complicated past, is living a complicated present, and will no doubt have a complicated future.

But the idea?

The idea is simple. It’s right there in the letter.

Yours in tiny thought,

Janeen

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This week’s amends…

Good Bones

Life is short, though I keep this from my children.
Life is short, and I’ve shortened mine
in a thousand delicious, ill-advised ways,
a thousand deliciously ill-advised ways
I’ll keep from my children. The world is at least
fifty percent terrible, and that’s a conservative
estimate, though I keep this from my children.
For every bird there is a stone thrown at a bird.
For every loved child, a child broken, bagged,
sunk in a lake. Life is short and the world
is at least half terrible, and for every kind
stranger, there is one who would break you,
though I keep this from my children. I am trying
to sell them the world. Any decent realtor,
walking you through a real shithole, chirps on
about good bones: This place could be beautiful,
right? You could make this place beautiful.

By Maggie Smith, from Waxwing magazine (Issue IX, Summer 2016

Via The Creators Forum

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On Rotation: “Don’t Change” by INXS. Picture teenage Janeen dancing around in her living room doing her best Michael Hutchence. Because that’s what I do whenever I hear this song. Also makes me think of High School discos.

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Soviet Wristwatches.

Via Messy Nessy’s 13 Things (more images there, plus a link to a guy with a MASSIVE collection of them.)

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Mobile Phone Museum. Some gems in there. I enjoyed the ugliest filter. My first mobile was actually a car phone (it came with a used car I bought), but my first hand-held mobile was a Nokia 5110.

Via Messy Nessy’s 13 Things (again)

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